


still life

by nowrunalong



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Dreams, F/F, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-25 23:17:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9851276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowrunalong/pseuds/nowrunalong
Summary: “What if I don’t want a new partner?” Buffy asks, defiant. “And who can work with a Slayer if not a Watcher, anyway?”“A witch," a voice says from behind her.In which Buffy never moved to Sunnydale, and the First Evil runs rampant throughout history. Buffy—the Slayer, reeling from the loss of her mother and the responsibility of caring for her sister—is teamed up with Willow, a witch with a penchant for over-using magic.Meeting in dreams AU.





	1. under a sky no one sees

“You wanna move on to the next place?” Amy asks. She’s not finished her drink yet: a martini, Willow thinks. Minus the olive, ‘cause she’d already eaten it.

“I-I don’t know. I kind of have a thing to do later.”

Amy looks at her bemusedly. “It’s 11 PM. You know that there isn’t much ‘later’ left, right? What is it, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Willow waves her hand and the snow-cloud she’d conjured over the club disappears, along with the blanket of snow-turned-slush that had covered the concrete dancefloor moments before. Amy mimics the movement and her twittering birds leave, too, flying out the front door into an uncertain future.

For a moment, Amy looks like she might argue, but she shrugs instead and downs the rest of her martini. “Sure,” she says. “Whatever you say. So? You coming or not? There’s a concert going on around the corner—they’ve got _three levels_ of balconies. Imagine the stunts we could get people to pull.” She grins wickedly, intoxicated by the idea.

Willow thinks about it. Really _thinks_ about it, because it’s not like she has anyone to go home to, and it’s not like she cares enough about her classes in the morning to make sure she’s asleep at a reasonable hour.

“No,” she says finally. “I can’t. Not tonight.”

“That ‘ _thing_ ’ you have,” Amy says, nodding. “Got it. Well, I guess I’m going by myself.”

“Are-are you sure? Maybe you shouldn’t—”

“What? You worried about me, Rosenberg?”

“Maybe a little,” Willow admits.

Amy shrugs again. “If you came with me, you wouldn’t have to be. But I get it: things to do. Papers to turn in.”

“Something like that,” Willow says vaguely. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“’Course. Don’t miss me too much while you’re nerding out.”

“I’ll try not to.”

And then Amy’s off to the next place, all vibrant, mischievous energy—all recklessness and no regrets. Willow watches her go, wishing she could feel the same.

She moves more slowly than her friend as she makes her way back down the stairs to the balcony and out the door, one last bird following her out with a cheery chirp. She doesn’t hurry any faster once she’s in the street, either, despite the commitment she’d decided to keep. It’s forty-five minutes before she gets home, even though the walk usually only takes her half an hour.

Home is the UC Sunnydale campus. Willow heads up to her room and, drained from her magical escapades, lies down on top of her comforter, fully dressed.

_Goddess_ , she hates sleeping alone.

—

“Dawn!” Buffy calls, stepping into their apartment and locking the door behind her. “I’m home!”

“I know!” Dawn yells from her bedroom. Buffy hears her door open and Dawn emerges in the hallway, carrying a stack of textbooks and a pencil. “Hey, Buffy. How was the working and the slaying? You take down any baddies?”

“One vamp, on the way home,” Buffy says, heading to the kitchen. Dawn follows, and watches as Buffy plunks a slightly squashed takeout bag down on the counter. Buffy sees her expression change from ‘ _glad my sister’s home_ ’ to ‘ _crestfallen_ ,’ and her mood tumbles even lower. “I’m sorry,” Buffy says, the words rushing out of her mouth in a torrent, begging Dawn to forgive her. “I know you’re tired of eating the same thing, but I get them for free, and—”

“Buffy, it’s okay.” Dawn slides the takeout bag over and unwraps the hamburger. “I mean—I’m not exactly thrilled about it. But you’re doing the best you can. You’re doing more than you should have to,” she adds. “And, like I’ve said—”

“No,” Buffy interrupts firmly. “You’re not getting a job. Not yet. Your job is to go to school. Your job is to do well so that when you’re older you’re not flipping burgers.”

“It helps that I won’t have to look after anyone,” Dawn says, trying to keep things light as she sticks the lukewarm burger in the microwave. 

Buffy nods, although she isn’t particularly comforted.

_Comforted. It’s not Dawn job to comfort me_ , she thinks. _I’m the adult now. I’m—_

“You don’t have to be all brave for me,” Dawn tells her for the umpteenth time. She pokes the burger. “Ooh, hot. Also, kinda soggy. Just the way I like it.”

This does make Buffy smile—infinitesimally, but enough that Dawn notices.

“Really. You’re doing great,” Dawn assures her. She looks down, hesitating, and adds in a softer voice, “Mom would be proud.”

This stiffens Buffy up: her tiny smile vanishes immediately and she looks as if she might punch something. “I’m gonna go to bed.”

Dawn looks sad, but unsurprised. “Okay. Love you, Buffy.”

Buffy can’t answer.

When she gets to her room she changes into her pyjamas, if only because her clothes are filthy from her fight earlier. Despite the exhaustion and the desire to give up for the day (or for the week, month, _year_ ), the Mom voice in her brain won’t let her climb into bed covered in dirt. She’d already done the laundry once this week and isn’t eager to make more work for herself. Hence the pyjama-ness.

She listens to the sound of a chair scraping across the kitchen floor: Dawn, settling down at the counter to finish her homework. Or possibly to get ahead. She’s a go-getter, that girl. Buffy’s proud of her, although she probably doesn’t say it as often as she should.

God. She’d give anything just to feel again. Even her love for her sister is dulled by the weight of her mother’s death and her father’s abandonment of their family. Her shift had ended three hours ago—she’d lied to Dawn about her work hours. She isn’t getting as many as she pretends, and she’s spending more time getting down-and-dirty with the demons than she admits, too. She knows that Dawn would worry, and that’s the last thing she wants.

She stands at the window for a moment, looking out at the city, and then pulls the blinds shut and crawls under the covers.

—

“What’s the word, Giles?” she asks, when she arrives at the Library, pyjama-clad. “You said that tonight was gonna be important.” She sounds hopeful for the first time that day: there’s nothing like a little ass kicking and world saving to distract from the problems of her daily life.

“Yes, yes quite,” Giles says, adjusting his glasses.

“So? Where are we going?”

“That’s just the thing I... I wanted to talk to you about.”

Buffy stares at him blankly.

“Well, it’s just that we... uh, we..."

"Come on, Giles," Buffy says impatiently. "Spill.”

" _We_ won’t be going anywhere tonight,” he finishes.

“We won’t?” Buffy asks. “Then why am I here?”

“ _I_ won’t,” he amends. “Buffy, I… I’m not coming with you.”

“I’m not following. Say that once more, with slowness.”

“I won’t be accompanying you anymore,” Giles says again. “Buffy… I know that… that it’s been hard for you to focus on your duties since, ah… since your mother died. But it’s important you learn— _re_ -learn—how to do this on your own. I’m afraid… that I’m holding you back.”

Buffy continues staring, momentarily lost for words.

“Giles, I show up every night, ready to kick ass. I spent more time than I even need to slaying demons in L.A., and your problem with my independence is _what_ , exactly?”

“The problem is that you show up every night, ready to… to ‘ _kick ass_ ’. Being the Slayer isn’t about looking for your next fight. It-it’s—”

“A sacred duty,” Buffy says, ready to ‘blah-di-blah’ Giles like she’d done when she’d first met him. “I know.”

“Do you?”

Sure, she’d been delegating more and more tasks to him, but it’s not like he can’t handle it. And if it’s too much—

“I need you to re-discover what it means to be the Slayer.”

Buffy expression is cold, now. Colder than it’s been all day, and she’d turned down two guys who’d hit on her in her Doublemeat Palace uniform earlier.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means that I will continue to be your Watcher—”

“Quitter, more like,” Buffy mutters under her breath.

“—but that for your missions, you will have a new partner.”

“What if I don’t want a new partner?” Buffy asks, defiant. “And who can work with a Slayer if not a Watcher, anyway?”

“A witch,” a voice says from behind her.

Buffy spins around to see a redheaded girl about her age—she hadn’t noticed her come in, which meant that she’d either just appeared, or that Buffy really hadn’t been honing her senses tonight.

“A witch,” Buffy says flatly. She turns back to Giles. “You found me a witch. Without, y’know… asking me about it? Talking to me about it at all? God, I can’t believe I thought I needed you. And _you_ ,” she says, turning back to the aforementioned witch. “What’s your name?”

“Willow.”

“Right. Willow. I’m sure you’re really competent and everything, but I don’t really need anyone to come with me. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“That’s what my friend said earlier,” Willow says, quiet. “I didn’t believe her, either.”

Buffy stares at her. She seems to be doing a lot of staring tonight.

“Fine. Whatever.”

“I don’t think you really have a choice. The portal only opens for two people.”

“Right. I knew that. How did you do that?”

“Giles kinda gave me the skinny on the whole Slayer thing,” Willow shrugs. “Also, I read a lot.”

“They have books about this stuff?”

“Well,” Willow says, looking around them—she looks the tiniest bit amused. “We are in a library.”

“Huh,” Buffy says. “I didn’t know these were real books. I kinda just figured, y’know, that they were decorative.”

Willow smiles. “You haven’t tried to open one?”

“Not as such. Giles does all the research-y business.”

“Speaking of, of, of research,” Giles says, stumbling. “The mission tonight involves the Slayer who was activated just before the fall of Pompeii.”

“Pompeii!” Willow says, excited. “They were _really_ advanced for such an old society. And they knew magicks.” 

“Yes,” Giles agrees. “Do you know anything of the Slayer Aurelia?”

Willow shakes her head. “No. What do the Watchers’ journals say about her?”

“Very little. In her timeline, she died in Pompeii.”

“And if her timeline is altered?”

“She lives.”

“Let me get this straight,” Buffy interrupts. “The First—who interrupts time to _kill_ Slayers prematurely—is trying to _save_ this one? Why? And why is that a bad thing?”

“Because the next Slayer to be called is needed in North America.”

“Can’t Aurelia do it? Do—whatever it is the next Slayer needs to do?”

“How would you impress upon her that this is true? How would you convince her to leave the city she loves?”

“How will the First?” Buffy retorts.

Giles shakes his head. “It is imperative that Aurelia dies at the fall of Pompeii. And she must die tonight.”

—

Buffy and Willow stand at the doors of the Library, having just been briefed more extensively by Giles about tonight’s mission. Unfortunately, he’d had very little information to pass on to them. The main point had been that the Slayer is supposed to die. Buffy had decided not to press any further about her dislike of this plan: Giles isn’t coming with her, which makes _her_ the boss of this operation now.

And then there’s Willow.

Buffy knows next to nothing about her except for an apparent bookishness. Also, she’d gone to sleep in her day clothes rather than changing into pyjamas. Unless she’d changed into a nice outfit to make a good first impression?

Probably the _sleeping-in-clothes thing_ , Buffy thinks. She’d done the same several times before she’d had to drop out of college to look after Dawn.

“Hey,” she says, just before they’re about to open the doors. “Have you done this before?”

“No,” Willow says. “I’ve only—”

“Read about it?”

“Well, yeah. But don’t make that sound like it isn’t useful! I-I know lots of stuff.”

Buffy nods. “It’s cool. I was just checking. This is gonna be a wild ride for you—books or no books.” She smiles, then: the first genuine smile of the night. “Might be fun.”


	2. waiting, watching it happening

“Giles told me about this,” Willow says, as Buffy pushes open the Library door. “Only the Slayer can— _whoa_. That is _so_ cool. That is…”

“‘So cool’ kinda sums it up,” Buffy says, smiling still. “You first?”

“I thought you had to—”

“I only have to open the door.”

“O-Okay,” Willow says, and steps through the doorway.

Buffy follows her and the door shuts behind them. Except that the door isn’t a library door. And it _hadn’t_ shut behind them.

“Uh, Buffy? Where did the door go?”

They’re standing in front of a stone archway. It’s not new by any means—maybe a couple hundred years old already—but it’s not _ancient_. It’s not the same place that millions of tourists will pass through to visit in two thousand years.

“Hey! Our clothes! And look… I can’t… _Buffy_. Do you ever get used to this?”

A man with a cart shuffles past them, nearly knocking Willow over.

“Hey!” she says again. And then, grinning: “Some guy who lived _two thousand_ years ago just bumped into me.”

“Yeah. It’s wild. Y’know, I don’t usually go back this far. The First usually meddles in stuff closer to the present.”

“Have you been to the medieval times?” Willow asks, open-mouthed.

“Twice.”

"That is… that is _so_ cool. And this!” Willow grabs a handful of her tunic like she can’t believe it’s real. “What’s up with the period clothing? Giles didn’t say anything about a disguise.”

Because Willow isn’t wearing her day clothes anymore, just as Buffy is no longer in the pyjamas she’d worn to bed. Instead, both girls are in long, linen tunics, Willow’s blue and Buffy’s a golden yellow.

“The Library does that. It’s some kind of spell, or something. It’s magic, anyway. I mean, we can hardly go around in PJs. But we have to get moving. The volcano’s going to erupt soon and we have to find Aurelia.”

“How do you know it’s going to erupt soon?”

“Check your brain. What day is it today?”

“August 24.” Willow eyes widen. “Whoa. I don’t remember Giles telling me that.”

“Thanks to the Library, you know everything the books know when you step through the doors. Which, in this case, isn’t a whole lot. But it should be enough.”

“That’s why you don’t read them?”

Buffy shrugs. “I have a day job. Okay. Where would—” She stops and spins around slowly. “Do you ever get the feeling you’re being watched? ‘Cause I do.”

“Sometimes,” Willow frowns. “What do you—oh. Hey! She’s leaving!”

“And so are we. Come on!”

—

“The first thing about the First,” Buffy says, as they follow the woman who’d been watching them through the streets, “is that—”

“It can take the form of anyone who’s died prematurely in their timeline. Giles told me this part.”

“Right.”

“Buffy?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t really like running.”

“Well there’s not much we can do about—” Buffy stops in her tracks, as does the woman ahead of them. The woman, however, hadn’t stopped voluntarily. It _seems_ to Buffy like she’d run into an invisible barrier, hitting it full force with a loud “ _Ow_!”

“That wasn’t a very Roman exclamation,” Willow says, grinning. “We got her.”

“And _everyone’s_ got us,” Buffy says, glaring at her. “What were you thinking?”

They’d stopped in the middle of a busy market square, and a majority of the shoppers had turned around to look at them.

“Well, we _were_ running,” Willow points out. “That’s gonna attract some unfriendly eyes. But now we’re not, and—”

Ignoring her, Buffy rushes forward and grabs the woman—who had tumbled onto the ground after smacking into Willow’s spell—roughly by the arm.

“Hi,” she tells the small crowd that had gathered around her. “We’re just gonna, uh… borrow this nice lady. See, she—she stole something from me, and now we need to have a talk. In private.”

The woman squirms a little, but otherwise makes no move to escape. She doesn’t say anything, either: Buffy had clapped her free hand over her mouth.

Buffy drags her into an alley, Willow following.

Willow’s eyes are wide again. “They’re all speaking English,” she says, pointing back toward the market. “No, wait, I got this. _We’re_ speaking _Latin_! That is—”

“If you say ‘ _so cool_ ’ one more time,” Buffy warns her, removing her hand from the woman’s mouth.

“She won’t do anything,” the woman says immediately. “She’s the good guy.”

“You again,” Buffy says, glaring. “Why this face? We’ve met before. You’re not even trying this time. What’s the game? I stop you, and you can’t convince Aurelia to do whatever the hell you’re supposed to convince her do. Meanwhile—what? Fill me in, ‘cause I’m not getting it.”

“You’ve met her before?” Willow asks, puzzled. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“It didn’t seem important ten minutes ago.”

“You’re new,” the woman says to Willow. “What happened to your Watcher, Slayer? Nothing _tragic_ , I hope.”

“You wish. He’s on vacation. Willow, this is Anya.”

“I thought this was the First?”

“What, I don’t get to have a name?” Anya asks. “I’m just as real as you are—here, in the past.”

“What happened to the real Anya?” Willow asks Buffy.

“She got sliced and diced,” Anya says conversationally. “It must have hurt. Poor dear. That sword went all the way through—”

“That’s enough,” Buffy interrupts. “We’re here about Aurelia. Have you seen her?”

“Maybe.” Anya smiles enigmatically.

“Buffy,” Willow says, tugging on the sleeve of her tunic.

The ground around them is rumbling.

“We need to find Aurelia. _Fast_.”

“I-I can do a spell,” Willow says.

“You wanna be careful with that,” Anya says. “Using too much magic in the past will land you in a coma. Bam! Your mind is stick in Pompeii and the rest of you is stuck in the hospital, all your little friends gathered ‘round your body, hoping you’ll wake up, but you never will, ‘cause—”

“Shut up!” Buffy says angrily. “I don’t have time for this. Willow—the spell.”

“But—the coma thing. Is… is that true?”

Buffy shrugs. “Does the spell use too much magic?”

“I don’t think so,” Willow says, frowning.

“Then what’s the danger?”

“You’re right. But… what are we gonna do with her?” Willow looks at Anya with distaste. “Can we gag her?”

Buffy nods. She pulls a knife from the belt of her tunic—the Library hadn’t sent her defenseless, after all—and hacks a strip of fabric away as Willow stares.

“What?”

“You’re ruining your dress!”

“God, did I worry that much when I was new? Giles, don’t answer.”

“Is he listening?” Willow asks, frowning upward as if Giles might somehow be watching them from above.

“I dunno. But the Library is.”

“The _Library_ —?”

“Willow. Do me a favour? Gag Anya before I gag you.”

“Geez, someone had a bad day.” But Willow crouches down to tie the strip of Buffy’s golden tunic around Anya’s mouth.

Before Buffy can look for something to bind her arms and legs, however, Anya disappears. She just… winks at the pair of them, closes her eyes, and vanishes into thin air.

“What the—hey! How did she do that?”

Buffy shakes her head. “She’s gone. It’s like… if one of us were to wake up.”

“We’d vanish?”

“Yes.”

“But how do we—”

“We can only leave by going back through the doorway to the Library. Even if your—do you have a boyfriend?”

“Roommate,” Willow says, somewhat stiffly.

“Even if your roommate were to shake you, you wouldn’t wake up. You’d just seem like you were in a really deep sleep. Kinda coma-like. But since the First doesn’t actually have a physical form, it can leave whenever it likes. _God_ , I hate explaining stuff. Basically, this is bad, ‘cause it means that, somehow, we got here too late. The First already got to Aurelia, and its work is done. Are you following any of what I’m saying? ‘Cause I think I lost myself at ‘coma’.”

“No, I—I’m following,” Willow says. “We need to find Aurelia before she leaves Pompeii.”

“Exactly.”

“I’ll do the spell. But—Buffy. I’m gonna be the only one who can see it, in order to keep it low-profile.”

“So?”

“So you’re gonna have to trust that I know where I’m going.”

“Trust.” Buffy shrugs. “Sure.”

—

Willow explains that her locator spell is like a little ball of light guiding their way. As promised, Buffy can’t see anything. She’s following Willow through the streets of Pompeii when the volcano erupts. It’s not long before the ash blocks out the sun entirely. She’s so tired, so jaded, but even she has to admit that the eeriness of night-during-the-day freaks her out just a little. It _feels_ like an apocalypse.

It’s chaos around them. People are running every which way, making sure their loved ones are with them as they begin to flee the city. It’s raining ash: Buffy had been right not to worry about her torn dress. All around them, things are falling, the force of the eruption shaking the walls that surround them in every street they run through.

No one is paying them any mind.

As a cart tumbles over in front of them, Willow reaches out and grabs Buffy’s ashen hand, tugging her along as she chases after the light only she can see.

Along with the artificial night comes the vampires. Aurelia is fighting, even as the sky falls down around her.

“That’s her,” Willow says, stopping.

“Oh my God.” Buffy stops, too, and drops Willow’s hand. “Why’s she still here?”

“D’you think Giles got his info wrong?”

“Giles—maybe. But the Library… I don’t think it _can_. But I can’t just…”

Buffy feels lost. She can’t help thinking that Giles would know what to do. And wouldn’t it be _reasonable_ to ask for help in this situation? She clenches her fists, angry. How dare he leave her, just because she can’t do absolutely everything on her own. They’d been a team. This is a _team_ endeavour. And now…

“We need to talk to her,” Willow says, gently. “We need to find out what Anya told her.”

Buffy nods. _Right. Anya. Stupid Buffy, can’t even remember what she came here for._

She rips a leg off an overturned cart, its fruits abandoned in the street, and joins the fray.

—

“Aurelia,” Buffy says, as she stakes one of the three vamps the ancient Slayer had been fending off. “Nice to meet you. We need to talk.”

“Nice one,” Aurelia says, of Buffy’s staking. “We can talk, stranger. But only if,” she grunts as a vampire elbows her in the gut, “you can talk and fight at the same time.”

“Talking and fighting is kinda my thing,” Buffy says, over a roundhouse kick. 

“You seem to know what you’re doing. Who trained you?”

“Doesn’t matter. Did you talk to a woman earlier? Short-ish? Curly brown hair? Kind of annoyingly chatty? Name of Anya?”

“Who trained you?” Aurelia asks again. “I won’t hesitate to fight you too, stranger.”

“Yeah. Kinda figured. I was trained by Rupert Giles.”

“A Watcher?”

“Yeah.”

“But not from Pompeii.”

“Not from Rome, either.”

Aurelia nods, but doesn’t press further. “I assume, from your accent, that you’re from far away.” She delivers a kick to a vamp’s head, an echo of Buffy’s last move. “I spoke to your Anya. She told me that I should leave Pompeii.” Aurelia pauses again, rubbing ash from her eyes. “I told her that I wouldn’t go, and she left.”

“That’s all?”

“You were expecting… what?”

“I thought you were going to be leaving.”

“It isn’t my job to leave. It’s my job to keep Pompeii safe.” At Buffy’s look, she adds: “I know that it is nowhere near that now. But my Watcher taught me that my duty is to make sure that all other citizens are safe before guaranteeing my own safety.” She stakes the last vampire and drops her arm, a tiny rest before she charges off again. “I’m going to help as many people escape Pompeii as I can. If I manage to help every last man, woman, and child, then I will leave, too. If not, then my journey will end here.”

“I know how you feel,” Buffy says quietly. “Would you like any help?”

“I’ll manage, stranger.”

“Buffy,” Buffy says.

“Odd name.” Aurelia smiles. “I like it.”

“Good luck,” Buffy says, and offers her hand. “Are handshakes a thing in Pompeii?”

Aurelia takes her hand and laughs merrily, despite the ash falling to the ground and turning her dark hair white. “Why wouldn’t they be? You must be from even farther away than I guessed.”

“That’s me. Far-away Buffy.”

“We should meet in Rome someday, if we make it through,” Aurelia says, smiling.

“Yeah,” Buffy says, because what else can she say?

She rejoins Willow as Aurelia darts off, her dead heart shattered even further.

“I’m going to kill Giles.”

—

Willow uses another locator spell to find the door because, as it turns out, it’s difficult to find a specific door in the dark while ash rains down from the sky.

“Goodbye,” she whispers to the falling city, before following Buffy through the archway.

—

“ _What_ was the point of that?” Buffy demands, as soon as they’re back in the library. “We were supposed to—what? Sit and watch as a Slayer takes on a suicide mission? ‘Cause, the mission is what matters. Once you believe that— _really_ believe it—nothing’s gonna change your mind. And she… she was so young, Giles. Do you remember when I was sixteen?”

“Of course I do.”

“She’s just a girl. Oh my God. She’s just like _Dawn_ , Giles.”

“I am truly sorry, Buffy.”

“Sure.” Buffy nods, and Willow can see angry tears in her eyes. “That’s why you sent me where I wasn’t even needed. I did _nothing_ to change history. I didn’t save a single person. I wasn’t even _supposed_ to save Aurelia.”

“You really did nothing?” Giles frowns.

“Because the _First_ did nothing. It just up and vanished after we cornered it!”

“This is very concerning, Buffy.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying. God, don’t you listen?”

“What did it say when you cornered it?”

“Nothing, obviously. But Aurelia said they talked.”

“And she wasn’t convinced to leave?”

Buffy glares.

“Right, yes. I _was_ listening. I’m just… double-checking, that’s all.”

“So? Did she live, or did she die?”

“Sorry?”

“ _Aurelia_.”

“She… she lived.” Giles frowns. “No, th-that’s not right. How can that be—? She lived and moved to Rome.”

“We should meet in Rome,” Buffy murmurs.

“Buffy?” Willow says, concerned.

“She lied to me. She was planning to escape to Rome. And I believed her because—because she’s the Slayer, and I would have done what she… what she said she was going to do. I can’t believe—”

“We need to find out what the First said to her,” Giles says. 

“But we can’t go back to the same time twice! Besides—does it matter? Whatever’s done is done. It’s ancient history, Giles. The world’s adjusted to it by now. What difference could it possibly have made?”

“The life of one Slayer? Quite a bit. Let’s just say there’s now a hole in America the size of Texas. Millions of acres of farming land have been lost. The East coast is more populous by 30 million people. Mining has—”

“Okay,” Buffy says. “ _Okay_. Fine. I get it. And what exactly am I supposed to do to patch up our new Great Lake?”

“You have two options, one of which is more risky than the other.”

“Which is the least risky one?”

“You kill Aurelia in Rome.”

Buffy stares. “I’m a Slayer. _Slay-er_ , Giles. I slay vampires. I don’t _kill people_. What’s the other option?”

“Save Anya Jenkins.”

—

“Gahh!” Willow says, jumping. Amy’s right in her face, peering cautiously into her eyes like she’s half-expecting Willow to be dead.

“God, Willow. I was shaking you for five minutes, and—nothing. Was starting to think you were in a coma. Anyway, you have class in half an hour. Thought you might wanna know.”

Willow yawns. “Did you... did you just get in?”

“Five minutes ago. Been shaking you since I got back. Another minute and I’d have given up.”

“You weren’t gonna call the campus police?”

“For this?”

“What if I’d been dead?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I could feel your pulse.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway,” Amy says, “I’m going to sleep. Do what you want. Go to class, or… don’t go. Doesn’t matter to me.” She strips out of her shirt and pants without bothering to turn around, tosses on an oversized T-shirt, and climbs into bed.

“Uh… okay,” Willow says. “Guess I’m going to class. Since, y’know… I’m awake now.”

She sits up and starts looking for her socks, her brain fuzzy with images of a falling sky and a blonde girl with ash in her hair.

—

When Buffy wakes up, she can still feel the ash clinging to her skin. She takes a shower to wash the sensation away, letting the too-hot water scald her back. (It’ll heal within the hour.) It doesn’t feel _good_ , exactly, but it feels like something.

Something is better than nothing at all.

Anger is the only emotion left in her. She can do anger really well. Anger at Giles, anger at the witch— _Willow_. The new girl.

Why hadn’t Willow realized that Buffy had been duped? 

Buffy scrubs furiously at her skin. She’s become too old. Too trusting. Look at her, putting faith in so many people, none of who deserve it.

Once the phantom ash has been washed down the drain, Buffy puts on clean pyjamas and crosses the hall to Dawn’s room. Her sister is asleep, desk lamp still shining: she’d drifted off on a textbook of some sort, her nose buried in the pages. Buffy tugs the book away, almost smiling at the little “mmmpff” noise Dawn makes at the shifting of her pillow. She leans in, kisses her on the forehead, and turns out the light.

Back in her own room, she lies awake and listens to the clock on the wall tick-tick-ticking away until she drifts off again. Once she finally does, she dreams of nothing at all.


	3. don't hurry

“Burrito?” Dawn asks, as soon as Buffy arrives in the kitchen. “Made ‘em myself.”

Buffy runs a hand absently through her messy hair. Dawn is the only one who sees her in the morning, so she hasn’t bothered to brush it. Come to think of it, she’s not sure she even brushed it before work yesterday. She should care that she looks like this—dead-eyed and a little crumpled, like that pamphlet about Jesus she’d thrown out last week—but it’s hard.

Just because it’s hard doesn’t mean she won’t try, though. She will. For Dawn.

“Hmm,” Buffy says, eyeing the pan of rolled tortillas with a critical eye. “These aren’t stuffed with PB&J, are they? ‘Cause you know how well that worked as a quesadilla.”

“No! They’ve got scrambled eggs. And tomatoes. And salt and pepper. They’re breakfast burritos!”

“Wow,” Buffy says, impressed. “I _think_ that’s an actual thing.”

“Hey—there’s a time for inventing, and then there’s breakfast. Failed food experiments? Not a morning activity. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

Buffy smiles and sits down next to Dawn. “I taught you that.”

“You betcha, sista.” Dawn lifts a burrito from the pan onto her plate, and bits of scrambled egg fall out all over the counter. “Oops.”

Buffy stares at the mess. Once upon a time she would have taken this opportunity to yell at her sister, but that was a different time. A different Buffy. A Buffy with a mother.

“It’s no big,” Dawn says quickly, catching Buffy’s expression. She sticks her plate next to the edge of the counter and sweeps the egg bits onto it with her hand. “See? I’ll just…” She grabs a cloth and gives the surface a quick swipe.

Buffy nods, uneasy.

She had made Dawn jumpy. She’s a bad sister. A bad mother figure. A bad—

“Buffy?” Dawn asks, and she’s looking at Buffy with so much warmth and sympathy that Buffy has to look away.

“I’m okay,” Buffy says. The phrase had become meaningless to her years ago, but nevertheless refuses to leave her word inventory. “Yeah. I’ll—I’ll have one. I think I’m hungry.”

“Great!” Dawn says, evidently cheered and relieved. “I’ll serve it up—this time, with less runaway eggs.”

—

“You coming out tonight?” Amy asks when Willow gets back from class.

Willow frowns. Amy is still her clothes from the night before—they’re rumpled from sleep, like she hasn’t left her bed all day.

“Don’t worry,” Amy adds, noticing Willow’s look. “I’m going to have a shower first. Heading there in a mo. I thought we could go to the theatre.” She quirks an eyebrow suggestively and Willow knows to interpret ‘going to the theatre’ as ‘going to swap out whatever community play is on for a band of our choice and then send befuddled audience members floating around the hall like helium balloons’. Fun, but…

“Um,” Willow says. She thinks that she’s supposed to meet Buffy again tonight to save that girl, Anya. At least, the ‘tonight’ had been implied, much like Amy’s proposition. “Not sure.”

“What?” Amy says, grabbing a clean towel from a drawer and draping it over her arm. “You got alone plans again? Your _thing_ isn’t masturbating, is it?”

“Nope.”

“Huh. ‘Cause it’s okay if it is, you know. No judgment.”

“I’m not—”

“Oh my Goddess,” Amy interrupts, eyes wide. “Are you getting laid? About time, I mean, ever since Tara—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Willow says, and it’s so forceful that her eyes spark. Literally.

“Geez, okay,” Amy says, and stomps out a spark that had managed to hit the carpeted floor. “I didn’t mean—whatever. I’m going to shower.”

“Fine.”

Amy looks like she’s about to say something else before she leaves, but she closes her mouth, changing her mind. Willow watches as she leaves. Her eyes sting. Even though the flames had been magical, fire and eyeballs? Never a good mix. She rubs her face absently with the back of her hand.

_Tara. Gone._

Willow needs a distraction. Needs something to take her away from this… this hurt, this _grief_ , this… stupid fucking existence.

What’s the point of being alive if it means being alone?

—

Buffy’s day is monotonous. She understands the hamster metaphors now—the ones where workers are hamsters in wheels, and no matter how hard they work to keep it spinning, they never get out, and they never move forward. She flips burgers, she slays. She flips burgers, she slays. The only thing of interest in her life had been her missions with Giles, and now he’d abandoned her, too. Sent her out with an amateur.

_It’s important you learn—re-learn—how to do this on your own. I’m afraid… that I’m holding you back._

Bullshit.

Buffy clenches her fists, alone in her bedroom, and resists the urge to put her fist through a wall. There hadn’t been much for her to fight tonight, and she’s itching with tension. Everyone leaves. Fathers. Boyfriends. Dad-like… mentor-ish… people.

Sooner or later, the witch will leave, too. Buffy has no doubts about that.

—

Willow goes out. Alone. Walks around the block—around and around and around. When she’s certain that Amy is gone from the dorm, she returns and flops down on her bed. Kicks her boots off onto the floor. Buries her face in her pillow.

It doesn’t smell like Tara anymore.

She can’t cling to memories forever, but that won’t stop her from trying.

—

“You came,” Buffy says, once Willow arrives at the Library. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

“Me neither,” Willow admits.

Buffy respects the honesty. After all, the job is hardly worth it. It doesn’t pay, it leaves a person feeling profoundly tired, and besides, Willow has no sacred destiny to fulfill. She’s here on a purely volunteer basis.

“Buffy,” Giles says, offering her a tentative smile.

Buffy stares coldly back, and the smile fades. “How do we save Anya?” she asks. “Let’s just… just fix this, and get it over with, okay?”

“Right,” Giles says. “Yes.” He nods. “I’ve found a point of entry into Anya’s timeline that seems most likely to prevent her harm. You see, Anya is not human, but rather a—a vengeance demon. She—”

“We need to save a demon in order to kill a Slayer?” Buffy interrupts. “Feels a little backwards to me.”

“Y-Yes, well… I suppose so.” Giles doesn’t seem to anything further to add because he resumes his informational spiel. “Anya took a job enacting vengeance on behalf of a high school girl named Cordelia, but—well, i-it seems as though they—they fell in love. They worked together fighting the forces of evil until Anya was killed in battle, protecting Cordelia.”

“Okay,” Buffy says. “When’s this battle? Who am I fighting?”

“No one.”

“What do you mean, ‘no one’?”

“You won’t be preventing Anya’s final battle. It’s far too risky. Due to the nature of her—her hobby—”

“Fighting evil is a hobby now?”

“Due to the nature of her lifestyle—”

“Not much better—”

“She’s in danger every day!” Giles says, frustrated. “You must go back and prevent her from ever meeting Cordelia Chase. Get her to take a different job. _Any_ other job. If she never meets Cordelia, then she never places herself in mortal danger, and the First will not have been able to borrow her image in Pompeii.”

“No.”

Buffy and Giles turn to Willow, twin looks of surprise on their faces.

“ _No_ ,” Willow repeats, more emphatic this time. “You want us to—what? Ruin the lives of these women?”

“It isn’t ‘ _ruining_ ’ if—”

“They’ve met the love of their lives!” Willow says loudly. “And you want to tear them apart? I don’t care if the change means they’ll never have met. Technicalities won’t win here. They’ll know something is missing. They’ll _know_ that someone is missing from their lives. You can’t meet someone and _lose_ them and then—and then _not_ know.”

“Well, as a matter of—”

“No," Willow says again. A fact, stated simply this time. She turns to Buffy expectantly. “Well?”

“Agreed. Bad plan is bad.”

“Will you two _listen_ to—”

“No,” Buffy says. “No! No, okay? You said that I needed to re-learn how to do this on my own, and that involves making my own decisions. Get the portal ready. Have it set to open before Anya’s final battle.”

“You don’t even know what you’re up against.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Buffy says. “I have a really good idea.”


End file.
